Sky Mountain

As I was eagerly awaiting my pancake stack at IHOP, my six-year old nephew sat next to me, lost in his own world of drawing and coloring a plane on a sheet of paper.

Out of pure amusement to see his reaction, I asked if he was drawing the outline of a shark and he smiled and gave me one of his “know it all” replies, letting me know how dare I think it was anything other than a plane.

The joy of joking with kids is they sometimes don’t know you are, which makes it all the more fun and pleasing.

I smirked and turned my head to observe the people in the restaurant. Many of them conversing, smiling and laughing, and to my surprise and delight, not a single person zoned out on their phone while in the company of others.

As much as I was excited about our family time together, I decided to join my nephew in passing the time while awaiting buttermilk pancake bliss.

I grabbed a couple of crayons, fully aware of what I was going to draw.

The same masterpiece I repeatedly drew as a kid: sun in the sky, mountains, a house and a tree.

Very simple but always enough to fill my complex soul. In my most poetic voice I could create, I shared and declared to my family my gem of a picture, and named it “Sky Mountain.”

Looking over my completed drawing, imperfections and all, I embraced that I never drifted away from the memory of my favorite picture, even after all this time.

Isn’t it a euphoric and spiritual feeling when we choose, even if for a brief moment, to stop being an adult and be a kid again? As exalting as it is, we almost feel guilty or even weird about it — like, I’m 36, is this normal?

Who we were as kids plays such a critical role in who we become as adults — but somewhere along the way we forget that, and we lose our youth and the experiences in life that take our breath away and bring us pure joy.

These experiences define us — why do you think we become so lost as we get older and stuck in the hamster cage? We let our defining days of youth slip away, and falsely convince ourselves it can never be recollected again.

Every day as the morning sun rises, we confront our own mourning — the absence of a relationship we once had individually.

A relationship that made us who we were — our true selves — with no need for apologies.

When I was a boy, six years old, my imagination ran wild. I pretended I was famous basketball players and teams in my backyard. I wrote poems and short stories, about anything and everything that entered my vivid mind. A lust for being outdoors and going on adventures.

I loved taking in all of my surroundings, getting lost in my mind. The art of being alive without needing to ponder why we are here in the first place.

Not a care in the world. Well, I did care about a lot, but I didn’t worry. There’s a massive difference between the two.

I didn’t obsess about money, careers, relationships, health or mortality— I was forever young as far as I was concerned. The idea and concept of being an adult was as foreign as me living in another country. I can’t wrap my mind around something I don’t know.

We go where our attention goes.

This year I’m returning to my imagination, and letting it run wild.

Because your imagination is the gateway to your soul.

Channel it.

It’s time to start really living.

Go back to a place where time didn’t exist, your greatest worry was if mom got your favorite cereal to eat, or that the sun would shine in the heavens long enough for you to embark on an adventure through the neighborhood on your bike.

This mysterious trip called life can suck the energy out of you but you have a choice to be that same kid running in the backyard chasing fireflies.

And to never lose your sky mountain.

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